Tread the Sun
by Mended Traitor
Summary: In the winter after the fall of Jadis, a new Darkness falls over Narnia. Peter rides to battle, Susan turns her eyes to her people, and Lucy's faith is tested. As for Edmund, well, he must take the adventure that is set before him. Follows Peter, Susan, Edmund, and Lucy on their journey from children to Kings and Queens of Narnia. Brotherfic. Shameless spiritual allegory. Psalm 18.


"Strange weather," Susan muses from somewhere to my left.

"Mmm," I answer absently, hunching over the text in my lap and thinking back to yesterday's lesson with Omri. High Narnian verb tenses are truly a bother, and I'm having trouble recalling –

The steady clack-clack of knitting needles stops, and there's an altogether deafening rustle of heavy skirts as my sister abandons Peter's newest set of winter stockings and rises to her feet.

I sigh, screwing my eyes shut and begging the Lion for patience not to snap at my sister for disturbing my studies.

 _Again_.

"Ed," she murmurs softly, and I glance up from my reading, attention piqued by the note of trepidation in her tone.

Susan is standing with her back to me, squarely between the open doors of the balcony overlooking the sea. She is gazing heavenward, dark hair fluttering gently in the touch of breeze.

I turn my eyes past her, to the eastern sky, letting my book slip past my fingers, conjugations forgotten. The sky is overcast, but not darkened. The clouds seem almost ablaze, emitting an ominous sort of light that casts all the sea in a violent, orange-ish glow. The air is heavy and charged, and even the autumn breeze seems thick with foreboding as it laps at my cheeks.

I am on my feet, at Susan's side before I am even aware of rising. "Lion above," I say. There is some subtle property in the air that sets a twinge of dread thrumming in my chest.

"What does it mean?" I am startled by Lucy's voice. I'd forgotten she was even present, so quiet she'd been. She is standing before us, leaned over the balcony with her hands pressed to the railing, face upturned, tongue caught at the roof of her mouth in childlike wonder.

Of course, I remember belatedly, it is _her_ balcony.

"I don't know, Lu," I answer truthfully, stepping forward so that I am at her side. She never turns to face me, but her form seems to melt, so that she is nearly resting her head at my shoulder.

I take a deep breath, galvanizing myself with the knowledge that these are my sisters, and they are in my care. "Send for Peter," I say firmly, and then, at second thought, "Better call for Systryn as well."

* * *

"By Jove, Ed," Peter breathes, and I turn to face him.

I am struck, suddenly, by the likeness between my brother and my youngest sister. Peter stands tall and fair with his face to the heavens, brow furrowed in silent consideration.

I take a step back. "It's not like anything I've ever seen," I say quickly, wincing at the smallness of my voice. I always seem to find myself tongue-tied in the presence of my brother.

Peter seems unaffected by my awkwardness. "Indeed not," he answers, reaching instinctually to clasp the hand of Lucy, who stands to his right. He never turns his face from the sky.

"The wyrm Systyrn, your Majesties," Comulus, a faun, announces with a low bow.

Peter waves him away, and Systryn, a great lizard from the deep places of the world, approaches.

Systryn is long and lithe, gliding smoothly across the flagstone floor. His body is twice the length of a man's and nearly as thick. His eyes glow red as coals, and around his head are feathers that glimmer like the fires of the underworld. His face is long and wise, and he has a snout like that of a horse, with blue whiskers that trail behind him like gentle wisps of smoke.

"Hail, Systryn, Lord of Serpents and master of the mysteries of the earth," says Peter gravely, bending forward in a solemn bow.

"High King," Systryn answers in return, a breathy, lisping voice. He dips his head in respect.

The three of us remain silent, watching, waiting.

"It has come to our attention," Peter begins, bringing his hands together in front of him, a nervous habit that I recognize from recitations at school, "that the skies above read strangely. Your art is known to us, and we would be glad of your council."

"Please," says Lucy stepping around Peter and kneeling so that she is face to face with the wyrm. I flinch, but Peter stays my movement with a heavy hand on my shoulder. "What do you make of the weather?"

Systryn regards her for a long moment, then turns his face Eastward and blinks. I notice, for the first time, that his eyelids are not as ours, but a thin, clear membrane that seems almost to shimmer in the strange light. He flicks his long purple tongue between his lips, once, then twice, tasting the heavy air, and then exhales slowly, a long, sinuous hissing sound.

The four of us wait with baited breath.

"Many waters," Systryn breathes, and the wind stirs at his voice. An angry thunder rumbles in the distance, and I feel Susan pressing closely at my side.


End file.
